Uncle Chuck

Life is short. And the older I get, the more apparent that becomes. If you’re like me, you go through life, trying to “make a difference.” I try real hard to do things right, to teach people, to set an example. I want to make sure that when I’m through with this life, I will have left a mark of some kind. And hopefully a good one. 

That’s one of the reasons I became a teacher, and it’s one of the reasons I’m still coaching. Now this doesn't mean I want to be rich, or famous, or even well known. It just means that, when I’m gone, there will hopefully be at least a few people who say “You know, that guy really taught me something.” I’m pretty sure more of us than not think along those same lines.

Which brings me to Uncle Chuck. Although we never talked about it, I’m pretty sure Uncle Chuck didn’t think about this at all. He never gave talks about “life lessons.” He never told me what was right and what was wrong. He never really tried to influence me, or anyone, to any great degree about anything.

No, Uncle Chuck was a very simple man. He loved his family, and anything outdoors. He made his living working in the cement plant, which was probably the cause of the lung disease that would eventually take him. But his love was outdoors. Fishing, hunting, hiking, boating, snowmobiling. Anything outside. So much so that it seemed odd to see him inside when the weather was decent.

It was a sad day when Uncle Chuck died. We went to the funeral, where Aunt Annie was a rock, comforting all of us, even though inside she was dying herself. But instead of a lunch in the church basement, Chuck made sure his “party” was at the legion. They served us beer and pizza, along with a bunch of other good food. (Actually I can't remember if there was pizza or not, but the event certainly had a “beer and pizza” feel to it.) He wanted all of us to have a good time, nothing fancy, because that’s how he lived.

And sometime during that party, it hit me. That Uncle Chuck probably never tried to “make a difference.” Yet that’s exactly what he did. Listening to the stories people told, talking to friends and family, and going back through my own memories of him, it suddenly became obvious that Chuck had “made a difference” to all of us. That he lived simply, but honestly, without pretension, and without ill will toward anyone. He was a friend to everyone, and would always lend a helping hand. Complete with a smile. As I left his party, I realized that living like Uncle Chuck would be a good way to live.

Thanks for the life lesson, Uncle Chuck. By just being yourself, you did alright.